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thebritishnobility: Huntsman Andrew German of The Cheshire Forest Hunt exercises his hounds in the autumnal countryside in preparation for the start of the new hunting season on October 31, 2013 in Knutsford, United Kingdom. The hunting season traditionally starts near to November 1st. Although a ban on hunting has been in force since February 2005 many supporters of fox hunting are continuing to call for a repeal of the ban, saying the current law is hard to interpret and enforce


5935 Notes

Oh dear.

Oh dear.

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Shortlist: The Twitter Index

We have fun.



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Oxford University students having tea at Merten College, 1939. (via LIFE)

Oxford University students having tea at Merten College, 1939. (via LIFE)

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Greeting card

second half of 19th century (made)
The Victoria & Albert Museum


Greeting card

  • second half of 19th century (made)

    The Victoria & Albert Museum

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Can we take a second to appreciate Kate Middleton for being an upwardly-mobile-but-basically-middle-class art history major from Reading who fucking married into royalty wearing a dress from the house of Alexander “sharpied ‘I am a cunt’ into the lining of a jacket for the Prince of Wales” McQueen

Can we just, like, remember to take a moment out of every day to appreciate that that happened

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Reading the Riots | The Guardian

So much to read and watch here — I’m sure I’ll be going back for days. I can’t seem to consume enough media about what happened in London last summer.

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(via All The Crazy Hats At Britain’s Royal Ascot All The Crazy Hats At Britain’s Royal Ascot – The Frisky)

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(via Obituary of illustrator Ronald Searle : Preposity)


BBC News - Cockney cash: Lady Godivas and speckled hens

The idea is the brainchild of Ron Delnevo at the Bank Machine Company, which already offers the option of Welsh - where else but in Wales - and is introducing Gaelic in Scotland.

"When someone suggested cockney they were only joking," he says. "But I thought why not?"

He maintains that it makes it more fun for people to use cash machines and that it also creates a conversation piece. So a speckled hen becomes £10, a cab rank is a bank, and sausage and mash is cash.

I remember hearing about this a year or so ago — it started out as just a few, but now there are 30 of them and it seems they’ll be introducing more with the Olympics coming soon.

Don’t forget your Huckleberry Finn.

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Specific parts of “How the Daily Mail Conquered England” that made me laugh out loud on the subway (for a variety of reasons)


One editor told me, “The paper’s defining ideology is that Britain has gone to the dogs.” Nor is the Mail easy to resist. Last year, its lawyers shut down a proxy site that allowed liberals to browse Mail Online without bumping up its traffic.


In 2010, a bearded, guitar-strumming band called Dan & Dan had a YouTube hit with “The Daily Mail Song,” which, so far, has been viewed more than 1.3 million times. “Bring back capital punishment for pedophiles / Photo feature on schoolgirl skirt styles / Binge Britain! Single Mums! / Pensioners! Hoodie Scum!” Dan sings. “It’s absolutely true because I read it in the Daily Mail.”

Trufax: the lyrics led me to believe it would have fit in well on Mongrels.


Its columnists range from sensible to unhinged. (One, Liz Jones, recently wrote about stealing her husband’s sperm in an attempt to have a child without his permission, earning her the nickname Jizz Loans.)


Harry Simpson, of Northwich, Cheshire, wrote recently:

I’m sick of Melvyn Bragg, Hugh Grant, Joan Bakewell, and Anne Robinson. I’m sick of Vince Cable, the entire Labour Shadow Cabinet, and all the politicians.

I’m sick of squatters and travellers, pop music, the BBC, surveillance cameras, my rotten pension, terrorists, Anglican bishops, and having no money, and I just want to die.

My country, which I loved is ruined. It will never be happy again. It is all self, self, self, moan, moan, moan. I cannot wait to get out and rest in peace.

He had forgotten wind turbines and E.U. bureaucrats.


American traffic was up sixty-two per cent last year. Its home page has become furtively prevalent in Manhattan cubicles. In January, when Mail Online surpassed the Times, a spokeswoman for the latter said, “A quick review of our site versus the Daily Mail should indicate quite clearly that they are not in our competitive set.”


Harmsworth, who received a baronetcy in 1904 (he joked that he’d gone from “Mr. ’Armsworth to Sir Halfred”) and became Lord Northcliffe in 1905, browbeat public opinion without compunction.


Because Dacre tends to refer to underlings as “cunts,” the daily meetings are known as the Vagina Monologues.


He was especially interested in One Direction, a previously clean-cut post-pubescent group that had celebrated its win for Best British Single by downing numerous bottles of champagne in full view of the cameras.

“We’ve got to do this boy band, don’t we?” he said. “After all, all boy bands come and go. Are we going to have an idiot’s guide to this one?”

No one had any ideas.

“But I repeat,” he said, crossing his arms over his chest. “Is it worth doing this boy group?” (It was.)


Dacre’s first job after graduating was as a reporter in the Manchester office of the Daily Express. When we spoke, he recalled “the thrill of seeing my first story in hot metal.” I asked him what the story had been. “It’s too absurd for words,” he replied, smiling. “It was six pages about a donkey derby in Blackpool.”

The daayyy the donkey derby came to toowwn


On January 25th, the model Kate Moss went to some parties in Paris. The next morning’s Mail read, “The Croydon beauty had very obvious crow’s feet and lines beneath her eyes as well as blemished skin from years of smoking and drinking.” Another journalist, interviewing her that day, asked why she thought the Mail was so focussed on her aging.

“I don’t know. ’Cause it’s the Daily Mail?” Moss replied. “They just get on everyone’s tits, don’t they?”
At another meeting, Simon Heffer, a columnist, expressed sympathy for the French far-right politician Marine Le Pen. (Private Eye, the British magazine, got wind of my visit and later reported that “the room fell silent” at Heffer’s outburst during the meeting, because “Mail hacks and executives had been ordered not to swear: there were to be no ‘fucks’ and most definitely no ‘cunts.’ As importantly, no one was to say a word that might be interpreted as sexist, racist or homophobic in the lady’s presence.”)
“One of the reasons it’s so egregious is because it’s so readable,” she said. “We’re clicking on ‘Oh my God, one of the WAGs couldn’t put her hair up because she’d freshly painted her nails’ ”—this was a real item on Mail Online—“and then you’re thinking, Why am I reading this? I’m an adult.”
I went to see Clarke, whom the Guardian once described as having “the man-management skills of a galley-master on a Greek trireme,” at Northcliffe House.

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How Ravens Came to the Tower of London

This article examines the few known references, both graphic and textual, to the Tower Ravens through 1906. It concludes that the ravens were originally brought in to dramatize the alleged site of executions at the Tower. Although not accorded great significance at first, legends that would eventually make the ravens mascots of Britain began outside of the Tower.


Still kicking myself that we didn’t actually take the Tower of London tour a couple of years ago. We just milled about the grounds and shared a 99 Flake.

I live for these birds!

Anyway, I beseech you to click through and read this scholarly article and also there is a video.

272 Notes


Diamond Jubilee Marmite. Because food needs puns.

Clever clogs.


Diamond Jubilee Marmite. Because food needs puns.

Clever clogs.